


Chaperone

by prompt_soybean



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: //negative words, //suicidal thoughts, //vomit, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 14:43:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13366890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prompt_soybean/pseuds/prompt_soybean
Summary: i wrote this as a vent because i am really not doing good right now and the only two people i love aren't noticing. enjoy.





	Chaperone

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: prompt-soybean

 

Why did this always have to happen to him? Why did he always have to sit back and be ignored? Connor had grown close to Evan, as Evan had calmed him down from many irrational things he would have regretted. Surprisingly, he'd also grown close to Jared. For a while, they were all happy. He felt like he belonged somewhere, that he meant something to someone. But, as usual, he was stupid to believe he could be anything other than a waste of space. Evan and Jared had known each other for longer than Connor had known either of them, and that always made him feel isolated. They just seemed to click more. He was sure he was being dumb for thinking this, but his mind always came up with ways that his only friends could hate him.

  
They're pitying you because they don't want to be responsible for your death.

  
They're doing it as a joke.

  
They weren't ever your friends, you're just intruding in their lives.

  
Connor felt utterly disgusting. He was always so quick to jump into a friendship, quickly blinded with the hope that someone would make him feel better. Hoping that someone would fill the pit in his chest that he couldn't fill himself. He threw up that night, from pure hate for himself and pure longing for Evan and Jared. Connor laid on the ground, curled around the toilet, wrapped up in the rug. He checked his phone. Nothing.

  
If they really cared, they would have texted him. They would have known something was very fucking wrong. Tears blurred the technicolor light that illuminated the bathtub behind him. He was sick of this. It always had to be him. His entire body was quivering on the ground like some sort of animal. He was a sad excuse for an animal.

  
He retched into the toilet again, seeing his non-existent dinner reappear. Tears and snot and thick saliva dripped into the bowl and mingled with the bile. It was like looking in a mirror. Maybe they didn't love him because they know that he's not worth their time. He didn't deserve to have nice people in his life. Even if he did, who would even want to be seen with him.

  
It was always the same; he'd always fall behind when walking with them, he'd always be oblivious to the conversation, he'd always get shallow sympathy that meant nothing. His phone was a little ways from him, taunting him. Maybe he would be better off dead. People seemed to care when he was gone and The Connor Project was present. Once he came back, everyone went along with their lives, as if nothing had happened. Who cared anyway, it was all fake. The notes, the bond, the love.

  
He rose his head when he heard his phone vibrate. Shakily, he reached and read his notifications. Two messages. His heart skipped a beat at first, before he realized it was just his mom.

  
"Go to sleep, it's late."

  
"Don't forget to take your meds."

  
Oh, Connor wouldn't forget to take his meds.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: prompt-soybean


End file.
